


Talks

by Threevowels



Series: Talks, rides and washing dishes [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Depression, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Islamic References, Muslim Character, Platonic Relationships, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 21:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20589629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threevowels/pseuds/Threevowels
Summary: “We can't always be happy, Ned”, she says and she has to bite the inside of her cheek, as soon as the words are out, to keep herself from groaning. Or possibly even laughing bitterly. It sounds so cliché, it sounds so not enough.“And I know that”, Ned lets out a huff of air through his nose, “but it's just that I worry about him.” Ned's eyes are on hers now and they look slightly red. “He doesn't really do anything anymore. He doesn't do the things he used to do, he doesn't do the things that make him happy”, Ned lets out another huff. “And I know that he doesn't sleep well and he hardly eats.” The teenager pulls at the straps of his backpack, that is still on his back, some more, hands twitching. “Probably wouldn't eat at all if I didn't give him granola bars whenever we meet. And I just worry about him.”





	1. TT

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Uncertainty_Principle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uncertainty_Principle/gifts).

The office is small and, at first glance, it looks a bit crowded. Two desks, two shelves and three chairs. One of the desks is unassuming and Grey, something you might expect to see in a teacher's office, with a laptop, a printer and a few paper towers on top. It is pushed against the big window in the room. Behind the desk is a simple black swivel chair, next to it a small drawer cabinet. The top drawer is open. Inside are a few cups, some sugar, a selection of teas and a tin of biscuits. A red electric kettle sits on the cabinet.

One of the two remaining walls is taken over by a huge book shelf, filled with books, in different languages and all kinds of different genres. Some dictionaries, some encyclopedias, mostly novels. Poems in English and German, novels in Turkish and Arabic, story books in Spanish, French, Urdu and other languages. There is a small blackboard, next to the German novels, it reads:

**>Book exchange; take a book, leave a book <**

Along the opposite wall there is another desk, a bit shorter and bright orange in color, with two yellow chairs. On the orange desk there are a few cups, filled with coloring pencils, some pods of water colors and ink, as well as three boxes filled with sheets of paper. Mandalas and color-in pictures are in the green box, Sudokus and a few crossword puzzles in the blue box and blanco sheets of paper in the pink box.

Over the drawing table is the only wall, that is not covered by a book shelf or window. It is however covered in pictures (of class excursions, trips to museums, science fairs, theater performances and slam poetry sessions), posters for events, a few poems and post cards with quotes, some Mandalas, a few sketches and drawings, and one interview.

The interview is spread on three and a half A4 pages and hangs in a row under the pictures sketched by students. The date on top marks it as from before the Summer holidays. Some parts of the interview are highlighted.

On the first page of the interview there is a picture of a smiling young girl with long blonde hair and a black hairband, next to a smiling woman, approximately in her late twenties, with a round face, glasses and a simple purple scarf around her head. Behind them the very same orange desk, books and wall of art can be seen.

The caption below the picture reads: _Betty Brant from Midtown Highs Journalism team, next to German and Arts teacher Miss U._

_**Midtown High News** May 24th 2016_

> **BB:** Good morning, Miss U. Thank you for agreeing to give the public an inside into your new project.
> 
> I have prepared a few questions, but I would first like you to talk about yourself for a bit.
> 
> Who are you? What do you do here at school? Why does everyone call you Miss U?  
And then to give us a short overview of the project TT. Please.
> 
> **EU:** Alright, my name is Ela Ugurlu and I was born and raised in Hamburg, Germany, went to school there, did my Abitur, which is similar to SATs, all of that.
> 
> After that I started to study Psychology in Hamburg, but it didn't really feel right for me. I did not finish my Bachelor, even though I spent four of my years doing that. And well, I was very unhappy during that time.
> 
> <strike> Is that too much? Should I leave that out?</strike>
> 
> **BB:**<strike> No, that's perfectly fine.</strike>  
What did you do after studying Psychology?
> 
> **EU:** I moved to a smaller city, because I wanted to start over. There I started to do my teacher's degree in German, Art and English.
> 
> **BB:** So you decided to study again and to completely change the way you were going after already finishing university?
> 
> **EU:** Yes, because sometimes you realize that something isn't right for you, so you change that and it doesn't really matter whether it's something that you started doing last week or a year ago or for three years, like me. Sometimes that's just how it is.
> 
> **BB:** Did it feel weird for you to change from Psychology to a degree in Education? Weren't you afraid of spending more money into your degree?
> 
> **EU:** No. It felt like a really good decision. And even though I had to work a lot to be able to pay my tuition fees, I managed. Back in Germany they are almost nothing compared to here in the US, so I could study again without getting myself in a lot of debt.
> 
> **BB:** How so?
> 
> **EU:** Well, a semester cost roughly 200 Euros back in my days.
> 
> **BB:** The whole semester?
> 
> **EU:** Yes, and you also get a ticket, for the U-Bahn and buses in the whole city and even for trains to a few cities that are close by, without paying extra.
> 
> **BB:** Alright. I think I'll be off studying in Germany after my SATs.
> 
> **EU:** [laughs]
> 
> Students here really should consider that option.
> 
> **BB:** [clears throat]
> 
> Anyways, so you did your teacher's degree.
> 
> **EU:** That's right, I did my degree and decided to do my mandatory semester abroad here at Columbia. Thanks to _Erasmus_.
> 
> **BB:**_ Erasmus_?
> 
> **EU**: It is an organization in Europe, that helps students do their year abroad. They helped me a lot, with knowing which courses I had to take and they also take care of the tuition fees, which is a huge plus.  
Anyways, I did my semester here and then I decided to finish my degree here because I kind of fell in love with the city.
> 
> After that I send out applications to schools, hoping that someone would accept me. It took a year of applications for me to actually get a school. But it wasn't easy at all. I gave English classes for refugees, during that year, and also some German classes for business people to tie me over. Then I had my job interview with principal Morita and I have been working here for two years now. I teach German and Arts.
> 
> **BB:** You don't really have a German accent.
> 
> **EU:** That's what people tell me. Thanks, I guess.
> 
> Is it really so bad to have an accent though? Or rather don't we all have an accent would be some interesting questions to ask ourselves. Maybe for an essay.
> 
> **BB:** Yes, right.
> 
> [pauses] 
> 
> So, we wanted to talk about your new Project. When did you start? What is the Project TT exactly and where did the idea come from?
> 
> **EU:** Of course.
> 
> TT or _Trust Teacher_ is something that we have started doing about a month ago. It started after quite a few meetings with our principal and other teachers, where we thought about ways to take some of the stress of being a teenager off of our students shoulder.
> 
> One of the big things that I remember about being a teenager myself is feeling like I couldn't really talk to anyone and we wanted to counteract that feeling.
> 
> The idea is actually not something I came up with, it's a concept that already exists in German schools. They are called _Vertrauenslehrer,_ literally translated to _Trust teacher_. It is not quite the same as an American counselor.
> 
> TT basically is an opportunity for students to talk to someone confidentially, who is not tied to their family or their friends when they need to talk. Or a place to go in the stress of Highschool, when they feel like they don't want to be with people, but they also don't want to be alone. Or when there is something that isn't quite right and they need some kind of guidance or someone to listen and maybe give a bit of advice.
> 
> **BB:** How does that work with your timetable? Don't you do regular classes at school?
> 
> **EU:** I do have my regular German and Art classes. Then there is also three days a week, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, where I stay in my office for three hours each, after classes. There is a sign on my door and when a student enters they flip it over. That way, students and teachers alike knows to not come in and the next person can just wait outside. There is also a paper stuck to the door where students can make an
> 
> [makes quotation marks in the air]
> 
> "appointment" if they want.
> 
> **BB:** That sounds really serious.
> 
> **EU:** Honestly, it's actually fun most of the time. Usually it's just me and a student reading a book together or drink a cup of tea or them drawing or coloring some mandalas while I do some work. For some students that is all they want, just to be around someone for a while, without the stress of having to talk or answer questions.
> 
> [laughs]
> 
> I guess I am kind of like a cat sometimes.
> 
> **BB:** What do the students talk about with you and do you tell their teachers or their family? What if it is something that needs talking to a third party?
> 
> **EU:** What we talk about is confidential. I don't tell others about those things.
> 
> If a situation like that should occur, I would talk to the student first and try to decide, together with them, what the next step should be.
> 
> **BB:** Do students only come to you when they want to?
> 
> **EU:** Yes, they only come if and when they want to. Sometimes teachers tell me about one of their students, when that student seems very stressed or is going through a tough patch, then they get an invite from me to come to my office, if they want.
> 
> **BB:** If they don't?
> 
> **EU:** If they don't want to come, they don't have to. TT is not like class. It is voluntary, never compulsory.
> 
> **BB:** Is it just Freshmen who come to your office hours?
> 
> **EU:** No. Freshmen do come, as well as Sophmores, Juniors and Seniors. Even some of my colleagues come over sometimes for a cup of tea and a quick chat.
> 
> <strike>**BB:** Maybe we shouldn't print that.</strike>
> 
> <strike>**EU:** No, it's alright.</strike>
> 
> Us teachers are people too, you know.
> 
> **BB:** Of course.
> 
> [looks at notes]
> 
> Do you think that you were chosen to do TT because you are close to students in age or because you are an open and funny person in general.
> 
> **EU:** [laughs]
> 
> <strike>You are making me blush, Betty.</strike>
> 
> I am doing it because I wanted to do it. Throughout my life there have been many times where I just wanted to have someone to talk to. Without judgment. Someone to trust in a way. And that is kind of what I am trying to give the students at this school, that decide to come to my office.
> 
> And if it helps even one student, why wouldn't I do it?
> 
> **BB:** That is a nice sentiment to finish the interview with I think.
> 
> [shuffling of paper]
> 
> One last question if that is alright.
> 
> **EU:** Of course.
> 
> **BB:** Why does everyone call you Miss U?
> 
> **EU: ** [laughs]
> 
> Saved the best for last?
> 
> **BB:** [smiles]
> 
> I'm curious too, actually.
> 
> **EU:** Well, my name is Ugurlu as I said. And when I started teaching here, students and teachers alike really did not get the hang of my Turkish name. I was called so many different things. Uruguay. Uganda. Uguana. Oddly mostly countries.
> 
> Most of them were alright but there was this one time a student called me Umbridge.
> 
> And that was the day when I decided to go by the initial. It was an old friend's idea, actually. Now I am a pronoun.
> 
> **BB:** [shakes head]
> 
> Umbridge? But there isn't even an M in your name.
> 
> **EU:** Tell me about it.
> 
> **BB:** Well, anyways. Thank you for the interview, Miss U. It really is a great Project.
> 
> I hope the students can see that as well and that you can help many of them.
> 
> **EU:** [smiles]
> 
> Thank you for the great interview, Miss Brant. I hope so too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series of stories was mainly inspired by the idea how all the things that Peter Parker has to go through, during Homecoming, would affect him mentally. And how the people around him would try to help with that.
> 
> Also inspired by The (singular, but hey, we take what we can get) muslim, hiiabi character in Spiderman Homecoming. (I don't even know her name)
> 
> When I was a little girl, I would wonder why there were never really women in Hijab walking in those streets in New York, in movies. Spiderman is the first big-blockbuster movie I have seen, that included a muslim woman with a hijab, who is just a normal person. They didn't give her lines though, but maybe it'll only take some more twenty years before that happens.
> 
> (Hopefully not.)
> 
> I added a muslim, hijabi character of my own and let her interact with those of the Spiderman universe. Let's see how it all goes.


	2. Ned Leeds

_**September 2016**_

_Knock-knock  
_ _Knock-knock_

Taking her glasses off her nose, Ela rubs at the red indents they have left. She wipes them clean with the hem of her blouse and takes another glance at her laptop screen before closing it with a sigh.

„Come on in“, she calls, and can not find any bit of resentment inside herself with having a distraction from making worksheets for _Schiller_'s _Maria Stuart_. 

_Schiller_ might have been a genius of his time – according to a lot of her former teachers – and _Maria Stuart_ is more than interesting in and of herself. However if it weren't for the syllabus, her 10th graders really could (and would) do a lot more in their German classes than discuss a play written by a white male German author, about the power struggles between white female monarchs. There is so much more to read, so much more to learn, but those things are not really a part of the SATs. 

"Hey, Miss U”, Ned Leeds says, entering her Office. His backpack is hung on one shoulder and a bunch of empty, colorful Posters are in his hands. He softly pulls the door closed behind himself. “I got you those posters from Mr. Harrington.”

“Oh, thank you. You can just put them over here.”, Ela says and pushes her glasses back in place, gesturing for her desk. With another sigh she gets up from behind it.

Ned drops the posters on her desk with a small nod. He then proceeds to alternate between pulling at his backpack strings and folding and unfolding his hands in front of his wide form. After a minute of contemplating – at least some inner struggles, by the looks of it – he walks over to the yellow chair, facing the window, and sits down.

“And I've – uh – wanted to talk to you real quick.”

“What's up, Ned?”, Ela says.

The concept of being all formal and calling students by their last names has never really grown on her. As they say: _old habits die hard_. Or rather, in this case: _things, you learn from your teachers sometimes stick with you for life_. During her own school years, she was never addressed by last Name. Well until she went to University. It feels too formal, too non-personal, too foreign, in a way that she does not like, to refer to her own students like that now.

(She would have all her students call her by her given name as well, but Morita did not warm up to that idea, the few times she has mentioned it.)

The simple question (What's up?) almost leaves her mouth on its own accord, at this point. It is usually the first thing she asks whoever enters her office.

Some of the kids tend to shrug, give her one-sentence-answers to her one-sentence-questions, grab a book from the shelf and start to read, leaving her to work quietly with them in the same room. Looking for some kind of company, more than anything. 

Others ask shyly whether they can draw with the pastel colors, to which the answer is always a resounding yes, they usually are not too shy the second or third time around.

And some start telling her, a mile a minute about the things that they have been carrying around with themselves since the last time they were in her office. Ela enjoys those mile-a-minute talkers, they feel familiar and like home in a way that makes her chest feel warm. They never ceased to make her smile.

Other students look very unsure whether to enter her office or not, whether to talk or not, whether to tell her more or not. They usually don't know where to start, either, and there is an air of something – sometimes apology, sometimes pain, sometimes sadness – surrounding them, like a cloud, hovering over their heads and around them.

Sometimes Ela can tell how _sorry_ they feel for taking away from her time. That – sometimes more than the tears and the pain – makes her stomach twist and turn like the North Sea during a storm.

She always makes a point of assuring them that she does not mind listening, that _this_ – whether it be five minutes of one word answers, with tiny smiles at the end or fifteen minutes of sobs over a cup of tea or half an hour of listening to all the woes and pains of being a teenager – is never a waste of time. Always important. Even if it does not feel like it is. Or rather even if the teens tell her that it is not important.

Because really, all of them – the kids, as well as Ela – know that it always is important, in one way or another. No matter how small it may be.

Ela walks over and sits on the other yellow chair, grabbing the red and white polka dotted tin of biscuits on her way. She puts it on the table in between them, takes a biscuit for herself – _Mamoul_, filled with dates and walnuts – and waits. She makes a point then, of pushing the tin towards the teenager. Ned shakes his head, but another gentle push, and he takes a chocolate biscuit and nibbles at it in silence.

Silence.

If someone would ask her to write a characterization of Ned Leeds, _silent_ surely wouldn't be one of the words she would use. Excitable. Kind. Caring. Soft. Loud. Maybe a bit overly enthusiastic. A nice friend. But not silent.

In her Arts class Ned can never go more than a few minutes without turning to the person next to him – which changes every week, for one reason or another, as his usual companion does not share that class with him – and whispering, with wide eyes and a big grin, about the newest, _coolest thing_ to _ever_ happen to him.

Now, sitting in her office, none of that energy is there.His eyes look smaller and a lot more tired than usual, his always-smiling mouth is cast down in a frown and everything about him feels _off_, when she thinks of his usual energetic self. As though someone has pulled out the plug of a very bright lamp.

“It's just one of my good friends”, Ned says softly after eating the biscuit, eyes still avoiding hers and hands back to twitching together and apart.

“Your friend?”, Ela asks, her voice even. It is even, mainly due to her years of practicing as a teacher. A small amount of worry and anxiety start to mix together in her middle, even though she tries to push them away.

As friendly as Ned is with everyone – everyone who lets him, really – there is only a few People this conversation can be about. Ela rubs her cold hands on her pants and looks at him expectantly to go on.

“Yeah”, Ned says, not noticing the look in his teacher's eyes. He still can not get himself to meet them, “he has kind of been through a lot in the past weeks”, Ned sighs and takes another biscuit. “Or really in his whole life.” He meets her gaze for a moment but looks back down again, pointedly studying his hands. “He just always bounced back. Even with his uncle dying, too, last year”, Ela feels something, hot and aching, rise at the back of her throat. “Like– he always was back to being happy and all, but this time he just isn't.”

Ela looks at the teenager in front of her, without really seeing him. She sees another teenager instead, one who looks a lot smaller – a lot weaker maybe, even though he would not be too happy about that thought – in her mind. A mop of brown curly hair, a big smile. With a pang of something steely, she realizes that she has not seen that smile in a long time.

“We can't always be happy, Ned”, she says and she has to bite the inside of her cheek, as soon as the words are out, to keep herself from groaning. Or possibly even laughing bitterly. It sounds so cliché, it sounds so not _enough_.

“And I know that”, Ned lets out a huff of air through his nose, “but it's just that I worry about him.” Ned's eyes are on hers now and they look slightly red. “He doesn't really do anything anymore. He doesn't do the things he used to do, he doesn't do the things that make him happy”, Ned lets out another huff. “And I know that he doesn't sleep well and he hardly eats.” The teenager pulls at the straps of his backpack, that is still on his back, some more, hands twitching. “Probably wouldn't eat at all if I didn't give him granola bars whenever we meet. And I just worry about him.”

Telling herself that she did not noticed these things would be a lie, and Ela does not like to lie to herself. She has noticed that things are different, in the past few weeks or so, since Homecoming.

Every time she has seen Peter in that time – not on too many occasions; between classes, in hallways – he looked as though he was lost in a mass of people. He did not come over to say "Hi" during breaks or at lunch, even though he always used to do that whenever he saw her before. The two times that she had seen him at lunch she noticed, that he hardly talked to his friends, always seeming lost in his thoughts. When he had talked, it always looked too _small_, too _slow_, even from a distance. The waterfall of words hardly even a few drops anymore.

Mr. Harrington did come to her office yesterday, for a cup of tea and a quick chat. He also told her about the posters he still had left over, that she could use. They talked a bit about this and that – about practices and upcoming excursions and exams and students – and Roger told her about how Peter would just “drift away” during Decathlon practices and only snap back once everyone had left. And that he was not even answering a single question correctly anymore.

There had been a slight frown on Rogers face as he had asked her whether she knew what was up. She did not, but that did not ease the coldness that had pooled into her stomach and was still there. Now it is mixing with worry and anxiety. The coldness feels a lot like _guilt_.

“Have you thought of talking to him?”, Ela asks, knowing that the question should be directed at herself, really.

To be fair, she has thought of confronting Peter, has thought of taking him aside and talking to him, but there has not been an opportunity for that in the past days.

She was so caught up in TT, worksheets, classes, that Peter has not been on the forefront of her mind, until Roger had brought him up. Rather Peter is like a highlighted reminder, on every single page of the planners in her mind. Waiting to be noticed and taken care of.

“He doesn't even really _listen_ to anything at all and I just don't know what to do and I want to help because I know that he has been through a lot. And I try to talk to him about the things he likes and we still sit together at lunch and do homework together and all that but it just isn't the same.”, Ned sighs, looking a lot older than his fifteen years in an instant, looking like a worried friend. “I just want to help, but I don't know how to do that.”

“Well, you don't seem too far off.”, Ela says, shooting Ned a small smile, swallowing her own mixed feelings that are creeping up to her throat, in an attempt to make him feel better. Because this talk between them is not about her or her feelings of guilt and worry at all. It is about a boy trying to help his friend and she might as well try to help him with that.

“Huh?”, is all Ned manages to say, just having taken another bite of biscuit in his mouth. With his yebrows pulled high and apart on his forehead, he lookes a lot younger than he has just a few moments ago. Ela can feel a bit of warmth rise to her chest at the expression on the teenagers face.

“Well,” Ela says, trying to look at this professionally, as though it was another boy who was worrying about another friend. Nothing to do with her life or someone she knew. No need to mix in personal worries, really. If she can push them away, for a bit, and comfort a boy, that is not a bad thing at all. “You obviously care for your friend and try to do the things he enjoys and make sure that he eats. Maybe keep doing that and just be there. That can help a lot. Sometimes people just need time. But I'd say that you're doing alright.”

Because sometimes it helps to be told that. Being told that you are doing alright can make a huge difference.

“Huh,” Ned says again, looking rather surprised with the outcome of the talk, but there is a small smile on his lips now. It makes her chest feel a bit lighter. “Okay, I'll do that Miss U. Thanks.”

“Of course, Ned”, Ela smiles too, small but sure, relieved that she has helped one teenager, no matter how small of an accomplishment it might feel like in the grand scheme of things. She makes several mental notes to talk to another teenager _as soon as possible_ to hopefully help him as well. “Anytime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maamoul - an Arab dessert filled pastry or cookie made with dates, pistachios or nuts such as walnuts (occasionally almonds).


	3. Michelle Jones

_ As soon as possible _ does not come before Ela meets another person, that reminds her of a certain teenager. She is on her way home, the day after her talk with Ned, when she hears a familiar voice.

“Hey there Miss U.”, Michelle says, from where she is sitting on the floor across from Ela's office door and gives a small wave.

The young girl's back is against the wall. With her shoulders are hunched and slightly tense, feet propped up and knees drawn towards her body, she looks more like a child, than Ela has ever seen. She is holding a battered copy of _Tintenherz_ in her hands, closed, with her index finger in between the pages as a makeshift bookmark. One side of her finger, the one with the front cover, holds most of the pages, on the other side there are only a few left.

“Hey Michelle,” Ela says, her voice coming out a bit hoarse. The way it usually does after any given school day, more so on a Friday like today. Her voice is even more hoarse after a week of talking and calling for her students' attention and lecturing.

This week has been a long one – she can feel it in her bones – filled with projects, assignments and stress. Now, nearing 7 pm, she has decided to call it a day and leave the rest for next week. All she wants to do is to drive home, watch some TV and go to sleep.

“I read through most of the novel”, Michelle says softly, looking up from her spot on the floor. One of the rare situations in which Michelle is looking up at Ela. The teenager is a good head taller than the woman.

The glint in Michelle's eyes, that Ela has gotten so used to, over the past year, whenever they talk about novels and stories and fictional worlds, isn't there. The sarcasm, that the teenager often times uses as a coping mechanism – and which Ela thoroughly enjoys most of the timre – is absent as well. Instead something heavy seems to be weighing the girl down, she looks tired. That kind of tired that isn't tied to sleep.

“Oh”, Ela says, just as softly.

Taking another look at Michelle's face, Ela decides that she doesn't want to leave the girl like this, no matter how much she wants to go home to her bed. Ela puts her bag down and sits down across from the girl, stretching her legs out in front of herself.

Oddly reminded of another talk she has shared with someone in a corridor, years and years ago, Ela shakes her head.

“What did you think?”, Ela asks the teenager and crosses her arms across her chest.

The first time Michelle ever came to Ela's office, about a year ago, the teenager had mumbled a small "Hello", chosen one of the books from the shelf and plopped down on one of the yellow chairs to read. She hadn't left that spot for two hours, not looking up once, only turning pages. Ela still remembers that day. She remembers thinking how very it was to have her there. A form of comfortable solitude.

The next time Michelle had brought with her a backpack full of “old books” that she had “already read” and had started to put them in between the ones that were already on the shelf. She had taken an old and battered German copy, the first _ Harry Potter, _ from the shelf that day. It was one of the only books that Ela had brought back from Germany in her suitcase.

The third time Michelle had gone straight to the orange desk and sat down on one of the chairs. She had made a drawing in her sketchbook of a beautiful round room, with vines hanging from pots on the ceiling and soft-looking chairs and huge book shelves. Ela had asked her what it was and Michelle had told her that it was the _ Hufflepuff _ common room, _ obviously _. Ela had asked Michelle, with a lot of wonder in her voice, whether she could make a copy of the drawing to hang up on her wall. She had then watched with wide eyes as Michelle had shrugged and simply ripped out the page and handed it to the woman.

After that Ela had bought a sketchbook, with pages to rip out, and left it on her orange desk for anyone who would like to draw. Michelle had started to draw other places from some of the novels that they both had read, and given them to an every single time awestruck Ela. Soon a row on her wall had started to form of places, destinations that Ela really would like to visit, if she could, if they were real.

Michelle usually knows at this point when Ela is leaving to go home, which still surprises the woman. The teenager comes to the office on the days that Ela stays longer, half an hour before she decides to go home.

The girl either chooses a book from the book shelf in her office to read quietly or she sits in the quiet office and does her homework or draws, while Ela is working, grading papers or preparing lessons.

Sometimes one of them throws a question in the room and they try to answer it together.

Who would get elected as the next President from the last novel each has read?

Which character would be most likely to go missing and never find their way back to civilization?

Why are there so many novels about white people, with people of color only being the side-kick at best?

What to do about Racism? About Islamophobia?

Sometimes they find answers and sometimes they find more questions along the way, but that is okay.

They have found a comfortable rhythm in the company of each other. At this point it feels a bit like home. Even when they do not talk at all. It feels kind of similar to knowing that your cat or your sibling or your friend is doing their own thing in the same room. That feeling of not being alone and not being with too many people.

“It was interesting”, Michelle says after a moment of contemplating. She puts a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Magical but still easy enough to understand. Not too complicated syntax.”

“Yeah, it is a kids book.”, Ela says. “I once did a book report on it, back in high school. They even made a movie a few years back.”

“Really?”, Michelle's lips slightly quirk up at the sides, the emotion not quite reaching her eyes. “I might check that movie out.”, she takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “I actually have a random question.”

“Shoot”, Ela says, scooting a bit lower. She stretches out her legs further in front of her, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes.

“Well,” Michelle clears her throat a few times. “You know when, uh, Bella gets really depressed after Edward leaves?”

Ela cracks one eye open and looks at the young girl.

“Yeah?”, Ela says but it comes out more like a question than an answer.

“Do you think that that can happen? When someone leaves.” Michelle rushes out, her eyes fixed on one of the lamps up on the ceiling that keeps flickering. _On-off on-off on-off._

“I don't really know what you mean, Michelle”, Ela says, both eyes back on the girl now, her voice unsure.

“I just mean, like, if that were to happen to someone you li- “, Michelle stops herself mid sentence and takes a deep breath. There is a short shake of her head. “to a friend. What would you do?”

“That is a very deep question to be so random”, Ela says. Then she sighs. Thinking for a moment, she rolls her shoulders slightly and massages her right shoulder with her left hand. Usually their random questions are easier to answer and Ela is very tired.

“Just, what would one do?”

“I don't know. Bella”, the name feels odd in Ela's mouth, “is going through some really tough stuff during that part of her, well, her _life_, I guess and as messed up as Edward leaving her is, it isn't even the most problematic thing about those novels, as I don't need to tell you.” Ela takes one of the pins out of her headscarf, and holds it between her thumb and index finger.

“But to answer your question, as best as I can, when someone has gone through trauma, and they suffer from some form of PTSD or depression afterwards, it can be very hard to know what to do about that as a friend. They might react in different ways. For some their trauma turns into anger. Others find themselves very depressed. Others have panic attacks.”, Ela pulls the scarf tight with one hand, adjusts it, before putting the pin back in place. “But I guess, being there for them might help with that.”

“Do you think that she would have gotten better if Edward hadn't come back?”, the question, barely a whisper, reminds Ela of the way her younger sister used to ask about ghosts and monsters, when she was even younger.

“The heart and the mind are complicated”, Ela says, holding her breath for a moment, to not sigh again. “And once someone gives their whole heart out to something or _someone_, it can be very painful, when that thing – or person – is gone. I dunno. Maybe. She was starting to get better with Jacob, I guess, but she also started to do really reckless things, as far as I can remember.” Ela realizes swiftly that it has been at least ten years since she has read those books.

“Do you think that it could happen the other way around?”

“What do you mean?”, Ela says.

“If it was the girl who had left.”, Michelle says, still avoiding the woman's eyes.

“Well, I hear that men have feelings too and can get depressed too”, Ela quips, snorting slightly, an attempt at lighting the mood a bit.

“I know that, Miss U”, Michelle says, but it was a sigh more than anything.

“Well, I don't really understand where this conversation is going, Michelle.”

“Just”, Michelle sighs and rubs her hands against her thighs, looking at Ela now. “Just wondering.”

But there is something so heavy in her eyes and the hunch of her shoulders, worry and another deep emotion is etched on her face. And then it clicks and Ela knows what Michelle is really asking her about. Because someone has left. Someone does seem kind of lost like Bella Swan had at that time of her, four book long, life. And the mix of feelings in Ela's stomach, from yesterday, is back again with full force.

“Michelle,” Ela holds Michelle's gaze. “these things aren't always about a girl or a guy. Sometimes there is other things that affect people.”

“Like really losing someone.”

“Yeah, the death of loved ones”, Ela's throat tightens, when she thinks about the last person she has lost. “Or other things, too. But life goes on in a way. Things change. Situations change. Everything is changing. Some days you lose and then some days you don't. And sometimes we just need some time to get back up.”

Again clichés, but they feel a bit more like truths in her mouth this time.

“I do hope it gets better for us”, Ela gives the girl a small smile, before adding in an afterthought, “And the ones we love.”

“Yeah”, Michelle isn't looking much happier than she did, when Ela first left her office, but the hunch and stiffness in her shoulders, is a bit less. And that is something, really. “Me too.”


	4. May Parker

By the time Ela pulls up in front of her apartment, after dropping Michelle off at home, it is close to half past 8 pm and she can hardly walk in a straight line. Of course she has forgotten that it is _Friday_ of all days.

When she enters her flat, May is already there, waiting for her.

“You definitely work too much, El”, the older woman says, with a soft edge of worry to her voice. “I've even contemplated cooking myself, but, well, I just ordered some Pizza.”

Ela mumbles a small “thank you”, lets her backpack fall to the floor and goes straight to her room. She change into something comfortable, takes off her hijab and prays before walking back. Not necessarily in that order.

Half an hour later the two women are sitting in the kitchen, with two cups of tea and the warmth of a meal inside them, while May updates Ela on the things that have happened at work, during the week.

Usually Ela doesn't have such a hard time focusing.

She loves May's stories. The Friday two weeks ago, May told her about the small boy, who made the woman five separate marriage proposals – including chocolates, flowers and even a real plastic-diamond-ring – in the three days that he was a patient. The week before that May gushed about how Spider-man would sometimes come and read for the sick children. There was a glint of pride in the woman's eyes when she told Ela about the vigilant in red and blue.

(“What a nice, young man”, she had said. “Well raised, well mannered. His parents did something right.”)

And last Friday May had told her all about the, “awkward but sweet” love story that seemed to be developing between two teenagers.

Now, however, Ela hardly registers a word of what May is saying. May's voice keeps talking, while her own mind is swimming with thoughts of things she has done wrong or not enough of this week and things she has to do, arrange, organize for next week. Every once in a while her train of thoughts is interrupted by a pang of worry for the nephew of the woman sitting across from her.

Ela is turning the salt shaker, that looks like the _ Brandenburger Tor _, over and over in her hands. It was a housewarming gift from Ben.

(“Bit of a random gift”, she had said. “Well, just so you don't forget where you are from.”, he had said with a smile. “But I'm not even from Berlin!”, she had replied.)

May's housewarming gift for their new neighbor had been a baking dish. She had secretly hoped that the young girl, with the wide smile, the colorful scarves and the tired eyes, that had a couple years of University still in front of her, might be a better cook than herself. That's what May had told her one day with a hearty laugh and a sparkle in her eyes. She had also told her that she hadn't been disappointed.

Ela had been very grateful for it nonetheless, even back then, when she hadn't known the woman as well as she did today, she had been able to see the deep care and softness in May's eyes.

One Friday, almost six years ago now, Ela had decided to invite her three next door neighbors and cook for them.

After that, _ Fridays _ had kind of become their thing.

Ela always preferred to cook on her own. The solitude was always able to calm her after a day of being around people, of doing things for school or university.

The dishes, however, were done by her and Ben, together.

The first few times Ela had tried to argue with him, the young woman had told him that washing dishes wasn't really so much of a chore for her. It calmed her down and she really didn't mind, but Ben wouldn't have any of that.

(“I do mind though.”, he had said. “You are cooking for us once a week, on top of all your courses and papers, and you expect me to not wash the dishes? Seriously, Ellie. It's like you don't even know me.”)

In the end – after quite a bit of back and forth, because ironically it was in the kind-eyed Ben of all people, that Ela had found someone equally as stubborn – they had agreed on doing them together. At first in companionable silence, then with hesitant small talk and as time progressed with all kinds of discussions about all kinds of topics. Ranging from book recommendations over future plans to politics and religion.

And washing the dishes had become their thing in a way.

Ela looks at a picture that is hanging above her sink, she is still turning the salt shaker in her hands. It is a shot from her graduation in a simple wooden frame, that was taken after her family, her friends and her three neighbors had all somehow managed to find a place to sit and eat and celebrate in her small apartment.

May was the one who took the picture of Ela and Ben.

They were an odd pair. Their backs towards the camera – sleeves of his white shirt and her dress rolled up, sponges in their hands – washing a mountain of dishes. His lean and tall frame next to her wide and short one. They aren't looking towards the camera, grinning at each other with a glint to their eyes. Peter is standing next to them, with Ela's graduation cap on his head, and giving the camera his widest smile and two thumbs up.

Ben had given Ela the framed picture a few days after the occasion, after a tearful goodbye to her parents at the airport.

("I am so very proud of you, Ellie. This is just a small reminder, you know, for when I am no longer around. So that you won't forget about me.", he had said, with a big smile and shiny eyes.)

She had asked him to put it above the sink for her.

Looking at the picture now does not hurt as much as it used to. In those first few weeks after, she couldn't even so much as glance at it. Now however it makes her think of the shared smiles and grins and laughter. It also makes her think of the shared tears, over that sink.

It reminds her of Peter playing on his Game-boy or sleeping on the couch. Of May sitting in one of the chairs in the kitchen, in the background, reading or humming a tune, knowing how important this time they spent together was for the both of them.

The picture reminds her of the – mostly soap free – double pats on her shoulder and encouraging words, whenever she felt like everything was too much, whenever she felt like she was drowning.

But he wasn't here to laugh with her anymore, or to pat her shoulder. Like things in life tend to do, they changed.

There is no longer three of her neighbors coming over on Fridays. Just the two. In the last few weeks it is just May.

“What's wrong, Ellie?”, May asks suddenly, or maybe not so suddenly at all. Ela can't tell.

It is the nickname, that startles Ela and makes her look away from Peter's smiling face and into May's worried one.

“Nothing, May”, she attempts a smile, it feels off.

“You sure about that?”, May asks and there is too much of _something_ in her voice, in her face. 

“Your nurse is showing,” Ela says softly, eyes back on the saltshaker, that she is turning over and over in her hands.

There is a short laugh.

“That's a new one.”, May looks at her, for a moment and then at the picture on the wall. “It's Peter, isn't it?”

Ela wants to laugh or maybe cry. She isn't too sure anymore. 

The younger woman looks at the older woman and doesn't make an attempt to hide the truth, “Yeah. You've noticed too, right?”

“I thought maybe he isn't like that at school, but _of course_ I've noticed." May sighs. “He doesn't really talk to me anymore. He doesn't laugh anymore, he hardly even smiles and he doesn't eat much either. I don't really know what to do with him, El.”

“Yeah”, Ela says. “Ned came in to talk about him today, and Mi-”, Ela shakes her head slightly. “And I had a talk with someone else too. They both seemed quite worried.”

“It reminds me of the time after Ben- I mean it took him a while to get back to normal after-”, May takes a deep breath, eyes flitting to the picture on the wall, bracing herself, “after the funeral.”

“Yeah.”, a familiar lump finds it's way into Ela's throat.

“But he was doing so well again,” May sighs deeply. It sounds tired, more than anything. “He is not like himself at all. And I don't know what to do about it.”

“Do you think that it might have something to do with Homecoming?”, Ela asks a bit hoarsely, the lump in her throat is still there.

“Yeah”, May watches the turning hands on the table, the salt shaker turning over and over. “Maybe. I guess. I thought that maybe it was because of Liz, because she moved away. After the thing with her father.”

Ela had been very sad to hear about Liz Allman's father. She had also found it very odd thing to learn, that the father of one of her students had been a _super villain_. Even thinking that word made it seem a bit too much like a made up storyline of some movie.

Her sadness, about seeing a great student go, had mixed with a feeling of bewilderment and a feeling of uncertainty that she wasn't quite able to shake off. It was strange how intertwined the stories of super villains and their counter parts were with the city she had chosen to live in. Surreal as someone coming from a place, where the most super thing, were super markets or super foods. Ela prayed that her mother never heard any of the stories, that took up a part of New York news every other week.

“You know”, May continues softly. “That maybe it was a broken heart. But this feels like more”, another sigh, “he was _devastated_ that day and he didn't leave his room for the next few days. And whenever I try to talk about Homecoming, there is this look on his face, as if something terrible has happened.”

“What do you mean?”

Ela's eyebrows scrunch together. She has stopped turning the salt shaker now and is bouncing her leg up and down, it's a nervous tick.

“I don't know”, May looks at Ela, really looks at her this time. “You don't think that they did some kind of crazy drugs at the dance, right?”

“No, May. I really don't think so”, Ela looks back at May, trying to look calm. Trying to be calm. However the worry that May is radiating, seeps into her already worried system. “I was there. The craziest thing that happened at the dance was that one of the kids was found in the computer labs, supposedly watching porn. I didn't see much of Peter, he left with Ned to go some place, but I'm sure that it wasn't drugs.” And because she can not stand seeing May like this, she pokes the older woman's cheek. “Come on, May. Don't you always tell me not to worry so much.”

May tries a chuckle but it sounds raw. She shrugs.

“May, he is a _teenager_. God knows what is going on with him. He probably has a million things going on in his mind. And a million things to worry about.”

Ela take her cup of now cold tea up to her lips and drinks the rest of it in one go. The seeping tea bag has made it bitter. It leaves an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth.

“I know”, a mumbled reply comes back. "I just don't know what to do.”

Ela glances at the picture over the sink for a moment. She then straightens her back and sets her chin.

“I'll try talking to him on Monday, okay?”, she says.

May's eyes find hers, looking red and very shiny.

“Really?”, Mays asks. Not doubting the offer, just going sure.

“Of course”, Ela says, because she has wanted to talk to teenager since Homecoming, really, and hearing three (or four) people worry about him, on top of her own worry, is too much. It is time to take matters into her own hands.

May shoots a quick glance at the picture above the sink, then she gets up and pulls Ela in for a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

“You know,” Ela chuckls, hugging back just as tight. “I haven't talked to him yet.”

“It'll work, I can tell”, May chuckles too, the sound makes Ela's chest feel a lot lighter. “It just is different between you and him. Kind of like it was between you and-”

“_Ben_”, they both say.

Ela hugs the woman a bit tighter.

“Peter has always loved you”, May smiles into Ela's shoulder now, a few tears fall onto her jumper. “Even when we first met.”

“You mean, when he was ten and I would help him with his homework and then we would watch _Star Wars_ together?”, Ela grins, pulling back. She gives May a quick double-pat on the shoulder and sits back down. “That kid got me to fall asleep on the couch too many times.”

They both laugh. Still raspy, still not completely whole, but from the heart.

“And his waterfall-stories,” Ela smiles. “I miss those.”

“The boy doesn't have a filter.” May says softly. She smiles at the girl – because no matter how much Ela has grown from the lost-looking University student, May still sees that same girl – in front of her. “I hope to have those back soon,” she says softly.

“_In shâ' Allâh_”, Ela says even softer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In shâ' Allâh - Arabic: إن شاء الله, is the Arabic language expression for "God willing" or "if God wills".


	5. Miles Morales

Monday morning Ela feels a lot better about a few things. Two days of being at home, doing some simple household chores, that she never finds time for during the week, has calmed some of her mind. Some might disagree, but hoovering, washing dishes and folding clothes, always helps ease some of the tension that creeps up on her during a typical week of work.

Weekends are also the two days of the week that she spends a good chunk of at the mosque. She rarely manages to go to religious lessons, after school, during the week. She is usually too tired and not able to take any of it in.

Saturday and Sunday, however, are well split between cleaning up at home after a hectic week and cleaning her heart from the rest at her local mosque.

Ela has quickly found her place in the community of muslims from all over the world. She has also made a few good friends.

One of the younger teachers, Sophia, a young American woman, who converted in her teens, has become very dear to Ela's heart. They often sit together after lessons and revise what they have learned and talk about the new things in each of their lives, while drinking some tea or hot chocolate.

Being at the mosque almost always helps Ela in calming her inner worries and stress. Being surrounded by fellow muslims reading the Qur'ân, praying or learning about the religion, eases some of the stress that being a teacher brings with itself, for her.

That is not to say that Ela doesn't love her job. Anyone with – or without – eyes can tell that she gives a lot for her classes and her students.

Some of her old professors would say that Ela is still in a stage of naivety that young teachers are in. They might even accuse her of a – in their opinion foolish – deep rooted desire to make a difference in her students lives and to change the system.

One of her teachers, back in Germany – her old German teacher, an old man with gray wispy hair, that somehow always reminded her of Dumbledore – might even call her a _ Grünschnabel, _without enough experience to see that school is not some kind of wish factory.

Ela would argue that she isn't that naive, really. She wouldn't disagree about wanting to make a change.

As naive of a thought as it might seem, to some people, teachers _ do _ have a big impact on their students in one way or another. Teachers do teach their students lessons. About school and also about life.

Ela wants to use her time to teach her students useful things. Most of the lessons that she remembers from her old teachers are things, that they said randomly or that did not concern the syllabus at all. Therefore Ela is very thoughtful of what she talks about, during class, and in which way she does that.

German can be tough for her students sometimes. Especially in the beginning, when she wasn't as good in assessing how much her students did or didn't understand. It got easier through the years, by talking to her students, making anonymous questionnaires about how much they understood of the class and deciding to only speak German in class.

Talking is, in her opinion, a big step towards learning a (new) language. Talking is the first step towards speaking fluently.

So, she doesn't flinch when the syntax of some of her 6th graders resemble that of her Grandmother, who has moved to Germany as a foreigner, and somehow never quite grasped the concept of articles. She has her students speak the language and decides to correct them, if and where necessary. Sometimes it is not necessary, really.

(Because whether someone says _der_, _die_ or _das_ _Tisch_, the meaning is clear)

In higher grades she does correct them more, letting them read more in German as well. Sometimes it is the same novel or poem, that they are doing their Literature class. Reading about familiar concepts and story lines helps in understanding them.

Arts is a different story entirely. If someone had told her that she would be living in New York one day and working as an Arts teacher, Ela might have laughed. It is very interesting how life works out sometimes.

As it turns out, teaching Arts isn't so much about drawing masterpieces yourself or having your students draw them. Rather it is about teaching them about important epochs, artists and techniques.

Also, very important in her opinion, letting them be creative. Therefore it has soon become one of her favorite things, to come up with projects, more often than not with her students input, and seeing what they come up with.

Not all of her students are just as enthusiastic about the projects. It is a science school after all and some of them have an air of_ I'd really rather do some equations, than __making__ a drawing __or take a picture __of what means freedom _about them. Which is okay. As Physics aren't for everyone, Arts aren't either.

Sometimes, however, some of the students are just a bit too enthusiastic. Their enthusiasm, (un)fortunately, doesn't always confine to the Arts rooms.

* * *

You are telling me, that you graffitied the wall of the gym?”, Ela asks one of her 9th graders, Miles Morales, after her first lesson on Monday.

(“Forget about Miles, just call me B3, Miss U.”  
“B3?”  
“Brilliant, black boy. Well, you could also put beautiful in there, if you want.”  
“I have another word on my mind, that begins with b.”  
“What? Miss U!”)

Graffiti. On school property.

Ela does encourage creativity, as much as the next Arts teacher, but that may just be a bit too much. Judging by the way Morita's nostrils flared, when he told her to take care of the matter, he definitely thought that is was too much.

“Yes.”, the boy pipes, from his spot, on one of the yellow chairs in her office, across from her. All of his usual charm appears to have left him for the moment being. He keeps glancing up at her face and back down, not quite meeting her eyes.

“You do know that there are cameras all over the school, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you wrote”, Ela glances at the picture, that Morita sent her a few minutes ago, after storming out of her office. “#notmypresident with a, well, caricature of the man?”

Over the hashtag there is a caricature of a certain frantic looking Presidantial candidate – orange skin, deep scowl and all – running behind his toupee, that is flying away in the wind.

“Yes.”

Ela sighs. “And you did that all on your own?”

“Yes.”

She looks at him for a moment. Then she gets up with a huff, walks over to her cabinet and returns to her seat, with the tin of biscuits in her hands.

“Have a biscuit.”, she then says, with a stern face.

“Wha-?”, the boy looks up at her face, then at the tin in her hands, and back again, his mouth slightly open.

“Didn't you get the reference?”, Ela looks at the boy, trying her best now, to keep from smiling. She pushes her glasses up and sets her eyebrows some more, but a small smile is playing around her lips.

Miles takes one of the biscuits tentatively, his brows furrowed now.

“So I am not in trouble?”, he asks, his voice despite the frown, filled with a considerable amount of hope.

“Oh, of course you are in trouble”, Ela says and takes a sip from her water bottle. “So much trouble. Especially when your father hears about this, I assume.”

Miles groans, burying his face in his hands. “Do you have to tell him?”

“Would you have preferred, if I had called him before talking to you? He might've come over here. Sirens, lights, the whole show.”, Ela says, the smile growing on her face.

Jefferson Davis, Miles' father, is a huge police officer, who can appear to be quite gruff at first. He somehow reminds her of her own father a lot. Always looking out for their children.

Miles groans a bit into his hands.

“And of course you have to paint that wall, the same color as it was before. And two weeks of detention”, Ela says and laughs as he groans again. “But for what it's worth I am glad that Morita sent me the picture. And I share the sentiment.”

The teenager takes his face out of his hands and looks at her.

“And who knew that you could _do_ that. Looks very, um, close to the real thing.”, she huffs out another laugh.

“You're not mad”, Miles says, his voice coming out a lot smaller than his age all of a sudden.

“Some might say, that it is kind of _brilliant_”, Ela's eyes sparkle as she looks at the boy across from her. “But I am your teacher and I work at this school, so of course I am not going to say that.”

“Of course”, Miles says, a small smile on his lips now. The set of his shoulders and the slight tilt of his head make him look proud.

“After you are done painting that wall”, the sparkle in the woman's eye is stronger now, her mouth in a curious smile. “I would like to have a word with you, about a project I got some inspiration for today.”

Miles' mural is gone from the wall, that afternoon, however it stays in the minds and on the phones of most of Midtown High's students, for months to come.

And if it also happens to be Ela's wallpaper on her phone (and her laptop), for at least that long, well what is there to say about that. It is a very well done mural after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grünschnabel - German word meaning rookie


	6. Roger Harrington

"Come on, Roger.” Ela says a few hours after her talk with Miles.

The talk has made her mood rise significantly. The mere thought of it makes her chest constrict with a sense of pride.

Thinking about the whole political climate and the options of Presidential Candidates, makes many people's mood sink in the past months. Finding a way to laugh about the thing that scares her feels oddly therapeutic, in a way. Even though she herself is not able to vote, as she only has a Green Card and is not an American citizen, she still has to live with the outcome. Whichever that may be.

They have done a few projects at school on encouraging votes, and educating students. Now they are waiting and hoping for the best.

“What do I even talk about?”, her colleague says, mildly hidden panic in his eyes, as they walk together in between classes.

As it happens to be Monday, Ela has to find a stand-in for TT, because she has something important to do. Roger Harrington just might be the perfect person for that.

“It's just for today, and you don't have to talk _too_ much. You can just have a cup of tea, do some work and listen a bit if someone wants to talk.”

The panic is growing bigger in his eyes. Well, maybe he is not _perfect_, but you work with what you get.

“But what if they have female problems or something like that.”

“Female problems?”, she stops and looked at the man with her eyebrows raised high. “You mean periods and the like?”

“Or what if they want to talk about sex?”, his voice is shrill now. A few of the students, that are walking by, give him concerned looks.

“Roger, do you really think, that teenage girls, or boys for that matter, will want to talk to you about sex?”, Ela asks, with a frown between her eyebrows. “Think about it.”

He opens his mouth, lifts a finger to protest and closes it again.

“Exactly. And”, she smiles at him now. “I'll owe you one. So, you'll get the two last packets of fresh _Lokum_ I brought back from Turkey this year.”

He seems to be considering all of his options, but in the end it is probably the promise of _Lokum_ – Ela knows how much of a sweet tooth the man has – that makes him nod, the last bit of panic merely a scowl on his face.

“Okay, just today. And I am going to eat your biscuits.”, Roger Harrington says.

“Of course, help yourself”, Ela says with a big smile as she hands him her office keys. “Don't lose those, please. And thank you, really.”

“Ah, well. Might not be so terrible to talk to the teens for a bit, right?”

“Right.”, Ela says with a small smile now, as she walks to her last class of the day, with a short nod towards Roger.

Thinking about her own talk she feels nerves flare up in her system, the worry and anxiety still there inside her are raging a war. As if she were about to have a job interview or an oral exam.

But it is a talk with Peter. Just Peter. It will be fine. Hopefully.

* * *

“Hey, Miss U, I've been thinking about that thing we talked about the other day. Have you considered doing something for Mental Health Day this year?”, Michelle says, entering the office and tucking her notebook out of her bag as she speaks, not looking up.

“Because I've had this idea-” Michelle looks up towards the desk. She sees, not the round, smiling face of Miss U looking at her from behind it, but rather a slightly frantic looking Mr. Harrington. A frown settles between her eyebrows.

“Hello MJ.”, he says, his hands hovering over the keys of his laptop, a book propped up next to the screen.

“You are not Miss U”, is all that Michelle manages to say, through her confusion.

It is odd seeing Mr. Harrington in this setting. Kind of similar to seeing a teacher out and about, shopping for groceries or walking in the park. That feeling of: _what is this person doing here, in this setting that is so different from their usual surroundings_. Somehow Mr. Harrington here, rather than at a park or even the movies, feels even more out of place.

The whole room has so much of Miss U in it. The pops of color here and there, the slightly high but manageable looking towers of paper on her desks, the assortment of pictures and drawings on the wall, quite a few of them done by Michelle. It feels odd to see Mr. Harrington eating biscuits and drinking tea, from a pink cup, behind the desk that seems to scream that it is not his.

“Ding”, he says, seeming to relax a bit, that it is her who walked in. "That is correct."

“Did you mistake this for your office?”, Michelle asks slightly irratably. She really wanted to tell Miss U about her idea. Maybe even ask her a few more things about a few things, that she can't see herself talking to Mr. Harrington about.

“No, Ela had some important things to do. So, I am her stand-in for the day. Or rather”, he looks down at his leather watch. “the next half an hour.”

“Oh, okay”, Michelle says, still frowning slightly, unsure whether leaving would be considered as rude. “I guess, I'll just”, she makes a quick motion with her thumb, over her shoulder, towards the door.

“Or you could read, if you want to do that. You do like to read”, Mr. Harrington states, taking a look at the book shelf. “I don't mind. As long as you don't have any questions to ask.”

Michelle can feel a small smile tug at the corners of her lips. “What did you hear today?”

“I would really like to forget about that”, the man appears to shudder a bit, but there is a small smile on his lips, as well.

He pushes the screen of his laptop down and gets up, stretching his arms over his head and walked over to pour another cup of tea. “If you want, you can tell me about your idea for Mental Health Day. I got permission to eat all of the biscuits.”

Michelle watches him-

as he walks over to the orange desk, puts one tea cup on each side and the biscuit tin in the middle. She takes a tentative step towards the desk and slips into the chair opposite her teacher.

He pushes the tin towards her and the gesture feels so familiar, she wonders whether the man might be visiting Miss U frequently, as well.

After nodding at him she takes a sip of her tea and a biscuit. She muses, that as much as it feels different to be sitting here with him, that it doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing and so she begins to talk.

“Well, I've had this idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a series, which will be dealing with various topics and is mainly focused on the time after Homecoming.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think


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